Beginnings
by Ellynne
Summary: Belle tried to not even look at Snow White's son, trying to block out all the memories that said he was her child. But, Snow was the one who made her hold him. Belle remembers Snow's son as her child from the life Isaac gave them. Inspired by Frantastic's "A Dream Now a Memory." Rated K for angst.


Snow hadn't even asked as she shoved baby Neal into Belle's arms before running out of the hospital to face the newest crisis Emma and her madness had created.

It wasn't that Snow was trying to be cruel or callous or that she had even noticed the way Belle never came near her when she was out with Neal or the way she had turned down every request Snow or David made for her to babysit. They hadn't pressed her. Or not much. Not really. She thought maybe they understood that, with Rumple in the hospital, with her visiting him every day she could manage (though it seemed there'd been fewer and fewer of those days lately, days when she could fight off the darkness that seemed to wrap around her enough to get out of bed and face the world). Although, if they understood that, why did they keep asking?

This was one of her better days. She'd made it to the hospital. Wrapped in her own thoughts, she hadn't noticed Snow and David till she had almost run into them. She'd tried not to look as Snow held Neal up and told Belle about his latest checkup with Dr. Whale even though she desperately wanted to hear everything Snow said about how Neal was doing. He was a little small for his age ( _well_ , _of course,_ Belle thought, before remembering she and Rumple weren't his parents), but perfectly healthy and so smart (Belle felt a rush of pride before reminding herself Neal wasn't hers).

"He actually seems to listen when I read to him," Snow said. "He was turning pages on the board book I was reading to him yesterday."

Yes, Neal did that. Books were rare and precious in their world, but Belle had a few full of pictures and ancient tales that she read to Neal, guiding his little hands as they turned the pages.

No, that had been Isaac's lie. That life wasn't real. It had never happened. She had to stop acting as though it were.

She could feel the urge to grab Neal away from Snow, to take him and run away. He was _her son_ , she thought. _Hers,_ not Snow's.

Except it was a lie. She had to keep telling herself that. Neal wasn't hers, had never been hers.

"It was a regular appointment?" Belle said. Her voice sounded faint and breathless in her own ears. Snow and David didn't seem to notice. "Nothing special you were worried about?"

"He's been fussy lately," Snow said. "Whale says it's probably just colic."

Colic. Neal had already had colic months ago. Didn't Snow remember?

Or had that only happened in the other world? Belle tried to sort out the memories of wearily walking Neal back and forth, trying to get him to rest. She remembered Rumple, coming home from long hours on the road and battles with the monsters that still haunted their land, taking Neal from her so she could get some rest, though she knew he must be as exhausted as she was.

And then they were asking her— _again_ —if she couldn't babysit Neal for them. "It would be good for you, Belle," Snow said. "It's not like you have anything to do. You need something to keep you busy."

Something to do. Yesterday had been one of her bad days. She'd been doing all right till she opened the window while she was fixing herself a cup of tea. Then, the wind had blown the smell of roses towards her. They had just begun to blossom. It mixed with the smell of tea and honey. She had a sudden, painful memory of _home_ , the smell of the rosebushes in bloom as she fixed tea for Rumple. She remembered the rose and lavender sachets she made and tucked into the linen press. It had clung to all Neal's baby clothes, mixing with the slight, sour milk scent of his breath.

She wanted her baby. Even though he wasn't hers. Even though she couldn't tell Snow and David, who would never understand why she felt this way. Instead, she had curled up on the kitchen floor and sobbed, knowing she would do anything to hold him again, knowing she couldn't.

It wouldn't matter if she did she told herself firmly. She knew what Neal would see if he looked at her. She was a stranger, a woman who had taken care of him a few weeks ago—eternity in a baby's mind. He would be afraid and cry and wonder where his parents were.

And, if she held him one more time, she didn't know if she could give him back.

Belle couldn't say that so she was trying to come up with something else, a polite evasion that didn't involve weeping or screaming or throwing things at them for even asking, when Grumpy came running, yelling something about Emma. Snow had shoved Neal into Belle's arms. "Take care of him!" Snow yelled as she and her husband ran out to deal with whatever the latest emergency was.

She shouldn't—she _knew_ she shouldn't—but Belle looked down at Neal. He was sleeping. He hadn't even noticed it wasn't his mother holding him anymore. She bent her head over him, smelling him. Some of the scents were different than the ones she remembered. There was no trace of rose or lavender. Instead, he smelled of baby powder. His hair had the light scent of No-More-Tears shampoo, and his clothes smelled of fabric softener. She had smelled those before when she looked after Neal, but they didn't tear at her heart.

Others, though. . . . There was the slight touch of sour baby's breath. There was what she could only think of as a clean baby smell, the smell that was just Neal. No dirty diaper, not yet. But, she even missed that, she thought. The smell of her baby's dirty diapers, the sound of him crying in the wee hours of the morning. If he cried, it meant he knew she would come for him, he trusted her to be there for him.

Except she wasn't. She never would be again.

 _He's not mine,_ she told herself. _I know he's not mine._

She had to keep going, she had to keep moving. If she didn't, she would break down and cry. Or she would take Neal and run for the town line. Or find some spell to keep Snow and David away, to make _them_ forget. Something, _anything,_ so she could keep him. _And you will regret it the rest of your life,_ she told herself. _Because, he's theirs. Not yours._ **Theirs.**

Unless she didn't regret it, she thought, holding Neal close. Unless it _was_ the right thing to do, to take Neal out of this mad town to a world where shadows didn't nestle into people's souls and gnaw away at their hearts.

They couldn't stop her, Belle thought. If she left, what were they going to do? Would they call the state police and tell them to bring Neal back to a town that didn't exist? Would David and Snow come after her themselves in the animal control truck? All she had to do was take the magic scroll that let people return with her, and there would be no way back for them. Would David and Snow risk abandoning everything to get him back?

 _I would,_ Belle thought. _I would march into Hell with no hope of ever leaving for Neal._

If she left, she would have to leave Rumple behind.

Belle swallowed. Trying not to think of the familiar feeling of her son ( _no, not her son, never her son_ ) in her arms again. He'd gained some weight, she thought, though maybe not as much as he should. The doctor had said he was small for his age. Should she worry? Snow and David were always so busy. Was her baby getting enough to eat?

 _Not mine. Not mine._

She went up to Rumple's room. He lay as he had for weeks, still asleep, still unresponsive. The only sound was the constant beep of the monitor watching over his heart.

 _At least, someone was doing that._

She should have known. She _should have_ _ **known.**_

If it had been anyone else—anyone else at all—what would she have thought? Someone changes overnight, starts doing things she never would have believed they'd done, and she never bothered to think that _something_ had happened to change him?

Belle sat down beside him, still holding the sleeping Neal. She tried to think of something to tell him. She didn't know if heard anything she said of if it made a difference, but she hoped.

Usually, she kept to lighter, hopeful subjects. Those seemed to be growing fewer and fewer, lately. She still hunted through his books, trying to find some magic that would help him. But, no one else even pretended to be interested anymore, focused as they were on helping Emma. There were books in her bag she'd meant to read to him, if she could only think how to pull one out without risking Neal waking up.

Belle tried to think of something else to say, old gossip about Ruby dating Whale, Grace Hatter asking Archie if Pongo had really rescued ninety-nine puppies from Cruella. Anything.

Instead, she suddenly blurted out the truth. "Do you remember how I ran into the store after Henry pulled us out of Isaac's story?" Belle asked. "How angry I was?" She bit her lip. But, now she'd started, she couldn't stop. "I—I loved the life we had there. Isaac—I went to see him—he said—he said you just asked that I be happy, that I be safe and free and have the adventures I wanted. He was the one who—who decided—" She swallowed back tears. "He gave you a life you would fight for. If—if anything happened to—to threaten your story, you would fight for me, for our son." She couldn't cry, Belle told herself. She'd made it this far. It was one of her rules. She could break down at home or in the store when there was no one to see her, but not in the hospital, not when he needed her.

The words kept coming. "I would have fought for it, too," she told him. "For you, for—" Belle hugged Neal closer. "—for everything. Then, I woke up, and it was all gone, all taken away from me. It was worse than having my heart ripped out of me. And—" she ran a hand over Neal's hair, dark as his mother's, his _real_ mother's. "—I'd lost my baby. I knew I'd lost him. It hurt so much. All I could think was that you'd done this to me. I didn't know why—to get revenge, to get power, I thought—It hurt even worse knowing _you_ 'd done it to me. I thought you had. I ran to the shop, and—and you were dying, too. Everything you did, you were trying to save us. You were trying to stop the darkness. And I couldn't see that. I didn't understand. And I lost both of you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Rumple."

She was crying now. The tears wouldn't stop. In a moment, she would be curled up and useless; and the nurses would come in and find her, sobbing and hysterical, and they would lock her up in the cells reserved for madwomen—

 _No, they don't do that anymore._ Never mind that, the last time she was here, they had drugged her just for refusing to believe them when they lied and told her what she'd seen with her own eyes had never happened. And that had been when they'd known Rumple would be coming back for her, with all the power—and the dark-hearted anger—of the Dark One at his command.

Had protecting her, fighting for her cost him some of the precious time he'd had left? Had the magic he'd used to keep her safe brought him closer to the end? She remembered him fighting to save Neal, then fighting to give her the chance to run when Zelena wanted him to kill her. Had all these things taken power, letting the darkness eat that much more of his heart?

 _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

Neal began to stir in her arms. Her crying was waking him after all. Belle shifted him. He was old enough to sit in her lap. Holding him that way, she wouldn't have to see him look at her and be afraid of the stranger with her arms wrapped around him.

She heard him give the soft, tiny yawn that signaled he was waking up. His little head swiveled about as he took in his surroundings. He seemed to focus on the hospital bed.

"Papa!" Neal chortled happily.

Belle froze, certain she had heard him wrong. He'd never used that name in this world. David was always Da-da (Belle wondered if he was trying to say "David," but she had never been mean-spirited enough to tell his delighted parents that).

"Papapapapapapapa!" Neal bounced up and down in her lap.

 _He's been fussy lately._

Isaac's book. Had he made memories for Neal, too? If he hadn't, Belle thought, Rumple would have been a stranger to him. He would have fretted and been afraid instead of gurgling and laughing as his father—as _Rumple_ sang songs and played with him. He wouldn't have had a favorite blanket or a favorite toy. The new life Isaac made for him would have left him frightened and confused.

No, she mustn't think this. She mustn't _believe_ this.

But . . . two sets of memories. Two sets of parents.

The same thing had happened to her son—to _Neal_ , she corrected—as had happened to her.

Neal remembered two sets of parents. And one had mysteriously vanished, leaving him alone.

He was a baby. It didn't matter to him that only one set of memories could be true, that one contradicted the other. As far as he was concerned, they would both be real. He'd fussed and cried, looking for them.

Or that was what Belle thought, what she wanted to believe—wanted it so bad she thought her heart would burst. She shifted Neal. "Neal? Baby? Look at Mama."

At the sound of her voice, Neal's head twisted around so fast, Belle expected him to get whiplash. His face lit up. "Mama! Mamamamamamamama!"

 _He's not mine. Even if he doesn't believe it, he's not mine._

She held him towards Rumple. "Rumple, wake up. Look, it's Neal." Her voice dropped to a whisper, afraid of being overheard. "It's your son."

Neal seized hold of Rumplestiltskin's nose. It was one of his tricks from hom—from that other world. "Kiss Papa, Neal," Belle said, holding him closer. "Give Papa a kiss."

She had tried kissing him. But, either the injuries he's suffered took more than love to heal them or—or her love wasn't enough, not anymore.

She had sent him away, over the town line, with _nothing._ Not even compassion. Not even mercy. They had had true love once, but she had poisoned it, giving him cruelty when he needed her love.

Neal, however, was just a baby. Everything he felt was pure and whole—from colicky outrage to peaceful content. He was the child of true lovers who, whatever else might be said of them, never lost faith in each other.

He bent over Papa and slobbered. Belle thought it was an attempt at a kiss. Maybe. She'd always _said_ it was when Neal played his little slobber game before.

But, nothing happened.

Belle slumped back in her chair, defeated. She'd let herself hope. For a moment, it had seemed possible. . . .

Rumplestiltskin gasped.

Belle sat up straight. That hadn't been a good sound, not like a man waking. His eyes stayed closed. Was something wrong? Should she get a doctor? Should she—

He gasped again, brow furrowing in pain, and moved his head, first one way, then the other, like a man trapped in a nightmare.

"Rumple?" Belle said. "Rumple, can you hear me?" She reached out to him, taking his hand. His fingers curled weakly. They didn't close around hers, but it was more response than she'd had from him since the curse had almost killed him.

He didn't say anything and his eyes didn't open. But, the lines of nightmare on his face eased, and he didn't his loose, almost-grip didn't let go of her hand.

"Papa," Neal said again. "Papa?"

The remaining tension faded. Rumple's head turned towards them. His fingers curled the rest of the way around hers.

 _I should do something,_ Belle thought. _Neal did something. I should—I should—_

But, Belle didn't know what she should do. Steal Neal away from his family so he could spend his days by his false Papa's side? Magically distill baby true love into a bottle (assuming she knew how) and make Rumple drink it?

Rumple would know, she thought. Rumple would know whether this meant it was just a matter of time before he was well or whether this was just a slightly upward bump that would go nowhere. If it was just a bump, she thought, he would know how to make it something more, to enlarge on this small change so it became something more.

 _It's a start,_ she told herself. She held Neal tight as he continued to bounce happily, chortling, "Mama," then "Papa." She didn't know what to do about that, either. Except. . . .

 _Whatever's happened, wherever it leads, it's a start_

 _X_

 **Note:** I usually love Snow and David, but they were not at their best in season 4. When this story happens, they have a lot of troubles of their own but they're pretty oblivious to Belle's.

Also, a few people have wondered if a baby Neal's age would really have memories. I based his reactions on a story a friend told of her six month old daughter who hadn't seen her or her husband for two weeks. I made Neal an early talker for plot purposes.


End file.
